I also complain a lot

Adulting 101 (or how I just basically dodge all future responsibilities).

A personal rant in response to The Daily Post writing prompt, Frivolous.

Alrighty guys, imma come clean. I’m turning 28 in exactly 15 days from now. Crazy, huh? Ten years ago I was in my third year of university and I was freaking out about where life is going to take me. My biggest problem was to survive university and whatever it is I’m going to write for my bachelor’s thesis. It was horrible. I was freaking out about what life has in store if just to graduate from university was already stressing me out. But, back then I’m pretty big in hoping that things will get better, even though I’m also pretty well known for being a gigantic pessimist. I thought that I just had to survive university and things will look up from there. At the same time, I’m not too keen with the prospect of getting older. The wrinkles and all the other physical changes were not my concern; the idea of being a proper grown up woman scares the living crap out of me. I thought that by late 20s I will be this sophisticated urban woman (I know, I know, even I can’t get over how ridiculous that sounds to me), but hey guess what? I’m turning 28 in two weeks and I am much more close to acting and looking like my 18 y.o self, compared to the actual regular 29 y.o female.

But, is it such a bad thing that I’m still an almost perfect carbon copy of myself from a decade ago? If you ask this question to my family members or to people who seems to think that they know how I should live my life better than myself, then the answer would be a rounding YES. Personally, it’s not a bad thing. Just because I don’t necessarily act and dress like other 28 y.o, it does not make me any less than a 28 y.o. I still have the same responsibilities and as much as I dodged those responsibilities, I still try to tick the check box mark of those responsibilities.

Exhibit one, I have a job. Sure I complain about the job most of the time, but I show up at work every time and I do the things that I have to do. A decade ago, I would never even think of holding a steady job, I’d rather just be all passive aggressive on Facebook (ironic and pathetic, I know). Exhibit two, I pay all my bills, just like what a proper adult would do. Sure, I’ve missed my insurance once (ONCE, I swear I thought I had enough money on my bank account), and I might have nearly missed paying my credit card bill, but I didn’t. A decade ago? I am as responsible as I am today in terms of paying bills (although I don’t have that many bills to pay 10 years ago, apart from my phone’s credit). Exhibit three, I have a freaking life insurance. Oh you have no idea how surreal it feels for me the first time I signed the paper for my life insurance. How much more adult can I be after that? I have a real life insurance. My mum and my younger brother is getting money if I die (I am not planning to die anytime soon), that is such a grown up thing to do, right?? A decade ago, I would have laugh at the prospect of having a life insurance. What am I? An aging bald man? Pfft. Exhibit four, I have a proper saving, of which I have never touch nor used. Much like a proper bank deposit but the timeframe is not as long as deposit, but still. A decade ago, I’d be so very much against the idea of a bank taking my money and not letting me use it without having to pay for the penalty. Exhibit five, I am much better at faking civility. Oh man, my 18 y.o self would rather throw herself down a cliff (figuratively) rather than fake niceties. But now? Well, still not enjoying that but I’m getting better at doing that, and isn’t that what all adults do anyway? Fake your way in life, one nicety at a time.

So, don’t go around telling me I gotta start cleaning myself up and be a proper adult. Because as far as I’m concern, I am already a proper adult. Sure, I’m still carefree and not serious (i.e. frivolous), but just because you’re an adult, doesn’t mean you have to be serious all the time, right? I don’t need to live my life like I have a constants wedgie up my arse to proof to people I’m a functioning adult (okay, I mean barely functioning adult).